


bloody love

by piceuscelus



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Blood and Gore, Blood and Injury, Body Horror, Consensual Kink, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Established Relationship, Humiliation, M/M, Pain, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Shameless Smut, Verbal Humiliation, Wound Fucking, implied aftercare
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-10
Updated: 2020-10-10
Packaged: 2021-03-07 17:08:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26921158
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/piceuscelus/pseuds/piceuscelus
Summary: “I – it’ll hurt – ”“Of course it will. But you like that, don’t you?”“Y-yeah.”“Thenhurt me,Jaskier.”(Exact details in notes.)
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 10
Kudos: 107





	bloody love

**Author's Note:**

> ...at least i know i'm not the first person to write something like this in this fandom.
> 
> exact details: geralt is wounded and jaskier fucks and comes into the wound. this is consensual and not the first time this has happened between them. verbal humiliation in the form of geralt sort-of teasing jaskier about his remaining hangups about this.

“Geralt – Geralt, are you okay? That looks….”

Geralt snorts, head thumping against the rock at his back. “No need to pretend you’re concerned, Jask,” he mutters. He’s not _okay,_ not hardly, but this isn’t even close to the worst wound he’s ever had, and it’s kind of hard to focus on the wound when Jaskier smells like _that._

Jaskier makes a short, affronted noise. “I’m not _pretending,_ I just – ”

“I can _smell_ you,” Geralt interrupts, lifting his head again to look at the bard. He’s red-faced and trembling, eyes flicking back and forth between the wound in Geralt’s side and his face. He looks _guilty,_ like he did the first time Geralt called him out. But, just like the first time as well, he’s hard. “And see you, for that matter.”

“ _Geralt._ ” Jaskier _whines_ his name, and Geralt can’t help but chuckle.

“C’mere, bard. Nothing a potion won’t fix, but I know you don’t want me to take one yet.”

Jaskier makes a soft, desperate little noise, and then he’s dropping to his knees and scooting closer.

“Yeah, come on,” Geralt encourages. He lifts a hand and gestures to Jaskier’s straining trousers. “Undo those. You may be concerned, but that’s not really what you’re thinking about, is it?”

Jaskier whimpers. “No,” he mumbles, obediently unlacing his breeches and shoving them down his thighs. Geralt watches his cock as it bobs lightly with the sudden release. It’s flushed, nearly purpling, and already wet with precome. He’s never seen Jaskier this desperate for it. It sends a thrill through him that makes the wound in his side throb. _He’s_ not hard – can’t be, not right now – but if it weren’t for the cocktail of potions in his system and the blood loss….

“S’what I thought,” Geralt says. “Come on, closer. We both know what you want, Jask.”

“Yeah,” Jaskier breathes, but he doesn’t move. “I just – I know it’s…. You’re still – right? You….”

Geralt chuckles and lets his head drop back against the rock again. “Jaskier,” he says. “Come fuck my wound like you want to.”

Jaskier makes an absolutely filthy noise, something between a desperate whimper and the exact sound he makes when he comes, and shuffles forward until he can lean over Geralt. One of his hands comes up and hovers, shaking, near Geralt’s face. He’s still wide-eyed and tomato-red. Geralt grins.

It’s easy to reach up and snag the bard’s doublet, to drag him down into a kiss. He whines into it, hips bucking, and his cock presses against Geralt’s side, just above the wound.

“Little lower,” Geralt murmurs against his lips. Jaskier sucks in a sharp breath and adjusts, bright blue eyes locked on Geralt’s as he moves, until Geralt can feel the heat of his cock against the edges of the wound. “Go on.”

“I – it’ll hurt – ”

“Of course it will,” Geralt slides his hand up from where he was gripping at Jaskier’s doublet, heedless of the way it messes up the fabric, until his palm rests over Jaskier’s throat. He can feel the rabbit-quickness of his pulse and his grin widens. “But you like that, don’t you?”

He knows the answer to that question, and they both know that. This isn’t the first time, after all. But Geralt loves watching the way Jaskier’s face crumbles in a stunning mix of humiliation and pleasure when he spells it out.

“Y-yeah.”

“Then _hurt me,_ Jaskier.”

This time when Jaskier’s hips jerk, his cock presses shallowly into the wound. Geralt bites back on a growl, breathing sharply, and Jaskier whimpers, eyes squeezing shut. There’s not pain, yet – at least, not more than the wound was already causing. Just pressure and heat, but Geralt knows that’ll change. He’s counting on it, really.

“Tell me how it feels, Jaskier.”

Jaskier makes a high, breathless sound, and his hips shift again, smearing his cockhead along the torn edge of skin. They both shudder, for vastly different reasons.

Or, well, maybe not.

“Hot,” Jaskier pants. “Slick, and – ” another shift and his cock presses inside again, a little deeper this time, “ _tight,_ oh gods, Geralt – ”

Pain sears through Geralt’s body and he groans, hand tightening a little on Jaskier’s throat. He feels the pulse of blood that Jaskier’s cock causes. “Come _on,_ Jaskier,” he hisses.

“ _Geralt,_ fuck,” Jaskier pants, and then he’s finally _moving,_ properly fucking the tiny little space his cock has made in the already-messy wound. Each time his cock presses inside there’s a rush of pain and more blood, and Geralt is grunting and growling like an animal, but he doesn’t push Jaskier back, doesn’t tell him to stop.

This never lasts long, anyway, and Jaskier has become quite good at field medicine.

It takes a moment to force words from between his teeth, but when a particularly rough thrust makes black spots dance in Geralt’s vision he finally manages. “Are you going to – _hk_ – come, Jaskier? Just like this, coh – _fuck –_ covered in my bl…blood?”

“ _Yes,_ ” Jaskier wails, tears leaking from the corners of his eyes as he leans into the hand Geralt has around his throat. “Yes, yes, _Geralt,_ fuck!”

Geralt’s eyes roll at the pain when Jaskier pushes forward, _deeper._ He can’t really tell the difference between the heat of his own blood and Jaskier’s cum, but he can tell that the mess on his side gets bigger, can feel the way Jaskier’s pulse skips and then thunders faster for a moment before finally beginning to slow.

He counts back from fifty, slowly, ignoring the searing pain as Jaskier finally pulls back. He can’t help but grin, though, when he hears Jaskier’s sharp inhale.

“Pretty permanent mark you’ve made there, bard,” he teases, and Jaskier _squeaks._ Just as Geralt counts down in his head, _ten, nine, eight,_ he hears the sound of the bard scrambling to his feet, and then the shift of leather and the clinking of bottles. By the time he gets to _four, three, two,_ Jaskier is back.

“Open,” Jaskier says, voice still shaky.

Geralt obeys and swallows the potion that’s poured down his throat.


End file.
